I Read Jennifer Egan’s ‘A Visit From the Goon Squad’.

I usually read books in order. Very rarely do I keep books on hold in order to finish a new one. The last two exceptions have been a poetry collection (the massive Anne Sexton complete collection) and a short story collection (an interval based collection that integrated all of the interludes between books from The Expanse). This book is a huge exception. It was recommended to me by a friend who said that the feeling the book brought with it was one that shared a lot of the same essence that I exhibited.

“All your favorite things… mixed media, music, bands, etc”

And all of this is very true! All of this is here. The way that it gushes about songs integrating themselves within memories themselves, the way that we associate bands with phases of our lives, the way that we use albums as marks of a rising (or retreating) tide within our own timeline. This is something that resonates deeply with me, as much as it does within all of the characters within this book. There is a whole chapter that takes place in the language of Power Point. There are underground shows, mid-sized venue shows, massive, city-wide communions. All of these things become the backdrop for this book.

The major element of this book is its broad web of characters, all of whom connect with one small group of friends who were trying to start a band and ended up linking with a major music exec. Their “in” is enormously sinister, a part of the book that was a total drag. Each of the members of the band are close with, in contact with, have deep memories of, or are married to other friends, children, or coworkers of all of these core characters. I found that I wished I had the kind of brain to be able to go back and catalog who each of these people were, when each of these names were mentioned so it could become a more clear vision of who (and how and why) these people were being mentioned. Some of the fly-bys and buzzings sounded familiar, felt familiar. It was all this giant petri dish of vague moments.

And that would be one of my criticisms of a book like this. I don’t think we dove deeply enough into any particular characters to genuinely get a feeling of connection with them. We could connect them to moments of the heart, we could even probably chart them on a graph of horniness, drugginess, commitment to partner, commitment to work… but I don’t think the humanity of many of them dashed off of the page to me in a way that felt meaningful. I don’t want to go to this place, because this begins to feel like some literary snob trying to create a glass ceiling for the rest of forever, but there was something very distinct about this book that merits its comparison: Infinite Jest did this kind of broad spectrum social scene once already, and while it didn’t stretch time in two different directions and land our feet in the past and future, there is an idea that we are getting a massive roster of people, each of whom plays a role in the lives of many of the others, but there is a wealth of depth to derive from Wallace’s characters, where Egan’s payoff is often in the endings of chapters, or in swiftly passing sentences that spark a sense of instant (and fleeting) familiarity.

At its core, this is a collection of short stories. I think that’s where this book accomplishes its goal perfectly. This gives the book a kind of “small world, isn’t it?” sensation, without trying too desperately to make us pay attention to each and every one of the characters’ motives and intentions. If we’ve missed a connection, its fine… there’s still a point to this brief anecdote. From a family’s excursion on a safari to a PR woman’s ultimate sacrifice to the gaping maw of media and its benefactors, to children in the hands of men, to the sprawling and strangling streets of Naples, we see a great many examples of how perception can draw strings in any number of directions. We can apply and remove rose colored glasses to a hundred evils. We can find ways to survive, even when our past is wearing us like a suit. I liked most of the individual stories a great deal. But again, I find that the novelty of attaching each character by some ectoplasmic tether limits and distracts the reader from the beautiful little moments, and in some way causes this infinite pause (relevant) to be drawn out into some ending that never quite falls as delightfully as one could hope.

I wonder if Egan’s intent was to connect all of these in the first place OR was it something where she started to figure out to work these initiates into later stories as the trees grew further outward.

This will present as prejudiced, pretentious and probably a bit snotty. For a book that seems to be wearing A Band T-Shirt, it does precious little to really get its fingers into music, and a bit more of what it thinks music feels like, and quite a great deal into how The People Who Control Music can wield the art at the bottom of its totem pole like a form of advertisement and draw (and reach). Where the book talks about music, this book could just as easily have been talking about Film or Sculpture or Finance or Climate Change or Entomology. Which is fine, except for what, then, is there left? For a book that seems to be wearing A Band T-Shirt, I wonder how much it knows about what wearing that T-Shirt could mean to someone else.

Ultimately, this is a cool book. What gets it outside of its barrier (and it truly isn’t the book’s fault) is the razzle-dazzle surrounding the book’s reputation. See: “A new classic of American fiction” from Time Magazine; see: “Groundbreaking,” from The Chicago Tribune; see: The Pulitzer Prize award for 2011. Like I said: it’s not the book’s fault at all. The book itself is enjoyable. It’s a good book to read. It’s that same kind of sensation that I get when I recommend a song, an album, an artist to another person with this immense kind of praise (often an essay or prelude that’s as long as this review or longer) and the listener gets… “just” a song. “Just” an album. “Just” an artist. Perception is everything.

I do recommend this book. For anyone looking for more of a young and hip collection of People, this is it. For anyone who’s ever roamed the night life, running out from one opening band’s set to catch a subway and get to the next venue in time for another show’s headliner, this will make sense to you. For people who craft timeless memories with friends and remember them fondly, reach out often and treat those feelings like the times of your lives, this is for you. For those with regret, you will see yourself in this. This is a rare kind of read, something whose pacing is pitch perfect, and will not let you go. This was a great recommendation.